


Management

by 20Zvorak17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also known as overprotective Dean, References to Suicide, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20Zvorak17/pseuds/20Zvorak17
Summary: It's not a cry for help. People always say that, but Sam thinks it's silly.He doesn't need help.Written for Prompt 181





	Management

In the bottom of Sam's duffel bag, beneath all of his clothes and folded into a pair of socks, there is a razor blade. Another, better hidden still, resides in the lining of his jacket. He's never been concerned about Dad finding out. If the man is around, he's still not  _present._ No, Sam is religious about the evidence because he's terrified that Dean will catch on. And Dean will overreact, Sam just knows it. It's not the big deal that people make of it, Sam doesn't feel. It's just a fact of his life; why should he mind?

Anyway, Dean is gone, off with Alyssa or Alicia or something like that. That's good, because Dean is like a shark when Sam is bleeding. It's very nearly a super power. Since the Winchester uniform is long-sleeved and layered Sam doesn't have to worry much about placement. Taking off the flannel and dressed in only his t-shirt, Sam fishes out the razor, absconding to the bathroom with it. It's one in the morning and he really should be asleep but he's too hyped up. This'll calm him and help him sleep.

It's a good thing.

The world is quiet when he does this. Even his own brain slows down when the rush of dopamine and adrenaline overtakes the unending train of thought. Everything is background noise, if he hears it at all. This, of course, is why he doesn't hear the door, doesn't hear Dean speak too soft, "Sammy?", why he misses the sharp intake of breath and doesn't come back to the real world until Dean stills his hand, carefully pulling it away from the bleeding skin.

"What's going on, Sam?" The elder asks, gently taking the razor from Sam who allows it to slip from his grasp.

"Managing my thoughts. Trying to relax."

"This is not relaxing, Sam. This is the opposite of relaxing. This is fucking dangerous. And stressful."

"You're making this into a really big deal, man." Nevertheless, he allows Dean to pull him to standing, to lead him to the sink, to wash his forearm carefully.

"Oh, this  _is_ a big deal, little brother, okay? I'm not making it anything."

"Dean. It's just a thing I do, okay? It's not that bad." At that, Dean nearly stops where he's applying gauze, shocked a bit, before taping it down, still careful despite his growing anger.

"Not that bad? Not..." a muscle in his jaw tics, "right. Okay. Fine. _Fine_. I'm putting you on suicide watch."

Sam's eyes narrow in anger but Dean isn't to be intimidated and simply continues, "No closed doors. No sharp objects. No being alone."

Sam takes exception immediately, jumping down Dean's throat. "I'm not suicidal!"

 _Doubt it,_ instantly crosses Dean's mind, but he reminds himself that tact is sometimes necessary, that maybe that's not the greatest thing to say. "And I'm not taking chances." It's not a tone that invites further discussion, but Sam doesn't care.

"I don't know why you're so freaked out about this!"

The color drains out of Dean's face in tandem with a forlorn expression that creeps into his features. "Because taking care of you is what I do, Sammy. So I'm gonna. And you...you're not seeing this razor again."

Sam smirks, too smug. "Take that one; it's fine."

 

Dean turns the room upside down.

Then Sam's bag. "Stop it!"

Sam's clothes. "Dean this is ridiculous." And he's panicking now, because the next place Dean will look...

Finally, to the younger's great chagrin, Dean checks the jacket and finds the back-up razor.

Sam goes berserk."You have no right! You can't do this!"

"I really can." It's quiet, terrifyingly so, because Dean only gets quiet on two occasions. Either he's about to rip somebody's lungs out through their nose or he's about to cry.

"You can't!" Sam says, swings at Dean with a right hook, only for his wrist to get caught in Dean's own right hand, follows with the other just for that one to be caught, too. Sam's arms wind up crossed in front of him, his body pulled tightly into Dean's chest where he cries. It's not quite a hug, so they can write this off later, which is the only plus side here. Whether it's frustration that leads to the tears or something that's long overdue neither can determine.

"Tough," Dean says thickly, half-heartedly and fruitlessly tells the tear rolling down his face to get back in his eye where it belongs, "because I am."


End file.
